


broken boys / flowered meadow.

by Prettything_uglylie



Series: fictober 2020 [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, Episode: s01e04 Murphy's Law, Finn Collins Is A Sweetheart, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Murphy's Law, Suicidal Thoughts, light Clarke Griffin bashing, only because of the hanging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettything_uglylie/pseuds/Prettything_uglylie
Summary: Between the flashes of false accusations and angry bruises, Murphy loses consciousness.
Relationships: Finn Collins/John Murphy
Series: fictober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954993
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	broken boys / flowered meadow.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maunwocha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maunwocha/gifts).



> hey so i've had this in my drafts for a bit but I realized I was done with it and yeah, I hope you like it! 
> 
> dedicated to the king of mufinn himself, ren! thank you for being my friend and inspiring me and just genuinely being the best! thank you! hope you enjoy this!

Between the flashes of false accusations and angry bruises, Murphy loses consciousness. He thinks he had lost himself somewhere in the flurry of yelling to _hang the bitch_ and the small inhales he was able to make out from the tight noose of the seatbelts cutting into his neck. For a moment, just a moment, up there, he had been sure he was bleeding from those wounds, that the seatbelt had embedded itself into the gentle skin of the underside of his jaw and slit his throat, leaving deep red blood to pour over unrelenting red rope. 

It hadn't though. He had still pulled in small gasps of air between broken and split lips because, despite all the self-loathing bullshit and agonizing craving to die, John Murphy is a self-serving son of a bitch who will always prioritize his own life and it's sad in a way. Sad in the same way he had watched his mother wane away by the same bottle she would continually press against her own lips. It was sad in the way his other suicide attempts were. 

But unlike the harsh drip of blood down his own wrist in the shower of lockup, when he awakens, it isn't Mbege shaking him. No, when he wakes up, it is in a tent that smells unfamiliar to the one he shares with Bellamy -- Bellamy, the son of a bitch, the motherfucker, the traitor, the coward, ~~the boy he loves but will never be brave enough to tell it to.~~ \-- but of some type of lavender or something strong and masculine but clean and refined and dark. It smells like the scent common on Levan's guard uniform as his wedding ring dug into Murphy's thigh when he promised that if John was a _good boy,_ he wouldn't tell about the handmaid knife he found in Murphy's cot. 

The scent hits him and overwhelms him and for a moment, he thinks the whole thing may have been a dream, that he had passed out when he and Mbege played that stupid game where you would lean on each other's throats to see how long you could last before passing out and he would wake with Levan's shit-colored eyes staring down at him with the type of want that made Murphy feel stripped raw afterward or Mbege's snorting laughter. 

He doesn't though. He jolts and the arms around him tighten their hold - wait, the arms around him? He peers over in the darkness of the tent, attempting to latch onto something real and in the muscular arms, he is surprised to find something almost too real - it's broken, like a scratching record, something that will only lead to more tragedy just like his feelings for Bellamy. 

Finn's obsidian eyes stare back at him in the darkness of the tent, worry in his furrowed brow and something upset in the down curl of his lips - of those lips that are so close, that could be kissed but Murphy isn't sure that the other boy wouldn't rip him out of the tent by his hair, yelling that Murphy kissed him, that Murphy's gross and dirty and showing everyone on camp just how broken the broken boy is Finn's too _stranger_ to risk it.

He jolts up. He can't risk it, not being seen for how broken he is - Mom had seen how broken he was and beat her own knuckles raw to get it out of him - or for kissing the older boy. His attempt is a good one but suddenly, Finn Collins' arm tightens and he murmurs gently, "Shh, it's okay, Murphy. You're safe now." 

He's not safe, his hysterical brain suddenly screams at him, loud banshee mind more than ready to pull him apart, he's in a camp with 100 criminal delinquents who just hung him and were more than willing to kill him. 

He shuts it up. It's too loud, it's giving him a headache. 

"Finn," he croaks, reaching to explain _I'm broken, man, please don't let me get close,_ and reaching to say _they hate me, they were going to kill me_ or ready to scream into the night's sky, _that little bitch, the fucking princess, almost got me killed! for what? for what fucking end?_ but all that comes out is his name.

Finn's expression morphs into something guilty and upset and just about as broken as Murphy is. Finn looks at him like that sometimes, he realizes after falling into the older boy's arms sobbing without meaning to, or sobbing without feeling it, just broken as usual, like something has happened to Murphy and he's irreversibly broken now. 

With anyone else, it would piss him off. 

With Finn, it feels oddly reassuring. 

Laying in Finn's arms as he strokes his hand up and down Murphy's bruised and cracked back, Murphy decides something. 

_I'm going to kill them all,_ he thinks, more frightened and in a defensive mode than genuinely vengeful, _I'm going to kill them all. Except Finn. I'll keep Finn._

He falls asleep in Finn's peaceful and just as broken arms before the plan fully formulates but he's content. He doesn't dream of broken red seatbelts or of cheering crowds, he dreams of a meadow and a boy with obsidian eyes holding him forever. 

John Murphy feels a little less broken with these dreams. 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked this! kudos and comments are my serotonin!


End file.
